


Triad Trio

by orphan_account



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alpha Sherlock, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Beta OFC, Established Relationship, F/F, F/M, M/M, Multi, Omega John, Triad relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-21
Updated: 2013-12-25
Packaged: 2018-01-05 09:33:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1092359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“Is Sherlock there?” a male voice asked from the other end, sounding strained.</i>
  <br/>
  <i>Miata chuckled. “Oh, he’s here. Crowded in the corner, covered in blood, snarling like a wild animal and degrading my boss with his kind words.” </i>
</p><p>Sometimes, and mind you this is <i>very</i> rare, The Alpha and Omega in a relationship is too much to handle, and it snaps. But sometimes, it has been found, it only snaps because they need stability in their lives. A peacekeeper. Someone who fits effortlessly but does not cause the usual problems of jealously. A Beta. A third person.</p><p>  <i>*(this is <b>not</b> a "lets throw in a female character just for the heck of it" sort of fics. No. This is set in a world where some Alpha/Omega pairs seek out [for their <b>own well being</b>] a third member, a beta, to keep the peace and balance out the raging hormones. This fic mostly will contain Johnlock and, although my character plays a large role in the emotional aspects and peacemaking and even a little smut here and there, <b>most of the smut (like, 85% of it) is between John and Sherlock.</b>)</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sit Down and Shut Up (for two minutes at least)

Miata was an insomniac. She couldn’t sleep for days, and then suddenly, she’d crash.

She also was an unbound beta, and although that seemed to be the one thing people worried over when she listed her symptoms to others, it was the least of her problems. Miata was demisexual. And, on top of that, she was not interested in being in a “couple.” She’d rather be in a “triad,” and everyone, including her most open friends, thought that was weird.

So Miata kept to herself, taking night shifts in the ER, and sometimes covering as a paramedic. She had a small flat that she shared with her cat, Shadow, and had drinks with her friends on Saturday nights. She was leading a boring and dull life, save for the blood and guts she saw in her line of work every day. She was smart, and she guessed she was okay looking, although a bit thicker than what the models and celebrities of the modern day. She fit more into the old forms of beauty, when it used to be a sign of high status to be a bit chubby. She didn’t wear tight clothing but she was no timid kitten; the fair amount of lingerie in her wardrobe proved that. She loved words, and art, so she had multiple journals and sketchbooks scattered across her kitchen counters and coffee tables.

She was lonely.

*

Sherlock Holmes had come covered in blood and close to hysteria.

The nurses tried to calm him down, to get close enough to look at what was bleeding where, but he wouldn’t let anyone close. He kept growling and snarling at anyone who came near, backed up into a corner and acting on his base instincts. His eyes flared Alpha Silver, and he threw insults and deductions to anyone whom he deemed too close to him, and made one nurse cry until she bolted from the hospital (“You’re mate is _clearly_ cheating on you, can’t you see? Oh my god, stop babbling.”)

And although it was annoying to have him snarling and rattling off information on her fellow coworkers that she could have gone a whole lifetime without knowing (like Nurse Fenis’s piss fetish or Dr Jones’s addiction to rape porn—the ladder made Miata’s skin crawl and she made a mental note to steer clear of Dr Jones or maybe even go to the Yard and see if he was breaking any laws) she still found it highly amusing. She was on the desk shift until called upon, so while she sat in her office chair and idly swung slowly back and forth jiggling her foot, she watched as Sherlock Holmes battled his way through every nurse available. And if you’d have asked her what she was thinking right that moment, her honest answer was that she was wondering if maybe this is why her mother had asked her if she needed counseling. Because even though she knew Nurse Jackie didn’t need or want to know, and was probably happier unaware that that her mate actually _didn’t_ like what she did with her tongue—whatever that was, Miata didn’t want to know—she couldn’t feel any remorse or embarrassment for them.

To be honest, Miata was a pretty detached person.

A call came in and Miata answered it, leaning against the built-in desk behind the reception counter, lazily watching as Sherlock verbally degraded Dr Edgot.

“London ER, Reception desk speaking.”

“Is Sherlock there?” a male voice asked from the other end, sounding strained.

Miata chuckled. “Oh, he’s here. Crowded in the corner, covered in blood, snarling like a wild animal and degrading my boss with his kind words.”

The man on the other end made frustrated and horrified noise. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry. I told him to behave, but as you can probably tell, he doesn’t listen.”

“Are you his mate?” she asked casually, peering over the counter to watch as Sherlock smeared the wall behind him with crimson. She was glad she was an ER nurse and not an ER janitor.

A long, drawn-out sigh. “Yeah, sadly. I’m on my way, he’ll calm down if you tell him I’m coming. I’m really sorry, it’s just—”

“Hey, don’t sweat it,” Miata cut him off cheerfully. “This is the most fun I’ve had in years.”

“What?” he sounded confused. And curious.

“This is great. Completely hilarious. Come quickly, though, he’s close to hurting himself or someone else.”

“I’m so sorry.” He sounded like he said that a lot.

“What’s your name, so he knows I’m telling the truth about you coming?” She glanced over at Nurse Jackie, who was sitting behind her with a devastated expression on her face, staring blankly at a wall.

“Oh, uh, yeah, I should have told you my name first, huh? My name is John. John Watson. And when you tell him I’m coming, please inform him that once I get there, I’m going to kill him?” he sounded pissed off and hopeful.

“My pleasure. I hope you get here in time.”

“Thank you, me too.”

John disconnected, and Miata settled the phone in its cradle. She got up, stretched, and then strode around the counter and made her way to Sherlock.

He growled at her, baring his teeth, eyes Flashing Silver, and streaked the wall with more blood as he shifted to look her up and down, assessing.

“In the late twenties, most likely twenty-seven or twenty-eight, mom is still alive but lives far away… America or Canada, judging by you’re off accent. You’re dad mentally abused you and her before he died of a heart attack. You have a cat, but no mate, so you’re lonely and you take anti-depressants. Before you went down the medical career path you focused on art, and writing, and actively use your skills for personal uses. Of course, yes, your hands tell me you draw more than you write.” His eyes flicked up to stare into mine, and he stiffened, as if expecting a blow, like how Dr Gonzalez had only a few minutes ago thrown a punch, but missed.

“Mr Holmes, your mate just called and told me that he was coming. John also told me he was going to kill you once he got here, so I think it wise to stop being a dick for a minute and calm the bloody fuck down, yeah?” Well, that _started_ out formally, but ended like… well. Yeah.

Sherlock blinked, rapidly, surprise on his features.

“Go sit down, in that chair over there. You can verbally harass people in a chair just as well as when you’re standing up.”

He paused, quiet for the first time since he got there, and then moved fluidly and settled into the seat.

“Great. Thanks. Now give it a breather, okay? Two minutes of silence, and then you can make people cry again after that.” She could feel the looks of disbelief and anger directed toward her.

She didn't care what they thought.


	2. Bickering Lunatics

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, wow. I didn't expect many people to actually read this, because, well, I don't personally like it when other people add their own OCs, either, so I thought... well. I thought it would just be looked over and skipped by, but apparently I was wrong.  
> Big thanks to all you who've commented, and gave kudos, and bookmarked, and followed.  
> Updates are going to be random and there may be some time jumps here and there. Bare with me.

John had burst into the ER doors and then proceeded to stalk angrily towards Sherlock like a snarling, feral animal. Profanities seeped through the air and exploded like fireworks, all from John’s quite colorful soldier dialect. Sherlock visibly shrank back into his chair (where he had waited patiently for the two minutes Miata had set and then began deducing a sick man’s whole life story rather rudely after the time was up) and then straightened his back once he got closer.

“Sherlock Holmes, you _bloody_ insufferable _git_ ,” John growled out. “I told you to go to the ER for a _reason_.” He stopped right in front of Sherlock, looming over him. “And I don’t think ‘terrorizing the staff’ was it.”

Sherlock set his jaw and when Nurse Jackie tried to get close to talk to John, he growled, shooting out of his chair and getting in-between her and John, eyes glowing Alpha Silver. “ _Don’t even try to touch my mate._ ” He snarled, low and threatening. She backed off timidity, shooting a glance at Miata, as if _she_ had the answers. Miata snorted quietly at that.

“Sherlock, you’re not making it any easier—” John seethed, taking a step around him, only to get blocked again by Sherlock’s arm.

“You treat me, John.” He snapped, close to a command. Some Omegas in the room flinched, and some betas shifted uneasily in their seats.

“Sherlock, I may be a doctor, but I have no right, legally or otherwise, to treat you here—”

“Then let us go home, then.” Sherlock snarled, eyes darting over the multiple doctors and nurses circling them. “You’ve had no problem in the past—”

“This is a bullet wound, Sherlock, not a bloody shallow gash in need of a Band-Aid and a week of healing.” John ground out. Some nurses gasped at this. They hadn’t known that the wound was so bad. Even with all that blood. Most of the ER staff had seen Sherlock Holmes covered in blood at least twice, but usually it was not all his own. “You’ll need a nurse or doctor to treat your wounds.”

“Fine.” Sherlock snapped, eyes simmering with anger and distrust, and flickered his gaze over the nurses and doctors surrounding him. His gaze rested on Miata.

He pointed. “You.”

From behind him, Miata saw John’s eyes widen slightly in surprise.

“Yeah, okay. As long as you don’t rip my throat out, alright? That would suck.” Miata said easily, grabbing a clipboard with ER Incident and Treatment Report sheets clipped to it and gesturing to the hall to her left. “Room 132. Just got straight and then take the first left. Should be to your right.”

John nodded and then dragged the Alpha down the hall and out of sight.

Nurse Jackie and Dr Jones stared at her while Dr Edgot straightened out his white doctor’s coat and threw his shoulders back, as if Sherlock hadn’t just been telling the whole ER that he owned a sports car to make up for the fact that for an Alpha, he had a ‘small, insignificant penis that even Omegas would scuff at’ about ten minutes ago.

“I hope you treat him well and with respect,” Edgot sniped, “because although he is an insufferable git, he is also well-connected within the—”

“Save the pep talk, Doc. You may be my boss, but the fact that you think I can’t handle on my own and find it vital to remind me of his personal connections gives me no confidence in your leading skills.” She flashed him an obviously fake smile. “And it also shows your complete lack of confidence in your staff. Cheero,” she waved and then strode down the hall.

She knew she was going to be thrown back into being an on-call paramedic for mouthing off, and that was exactly what she had wanted, anyways. The ER was not a fun place to be.

She grabbed the supplies needed for stitches on a trolley in the hall and then wandered into room 132 while she snapped on her gloves absentmindedly. Sherlock was glowering at the floor, perched on the examination cot, and John was settled in in a white plastic chair near the door, looking peeved. 

“Will this take long?” Sherlock whined, once the door swing shut behind her and she set down the stitching kit to rummage in the built-in cabinets, pulling out gauze and non-stick wound pads.

“Shut up and deal with it.” John hissed. “Nurse?” Miata turned to look at John. “Take your sweet time. Don’t even bother numbing it. Dig the needle too deep. Make it hurt.”

“Mmm. As much as I love to take my anger issues out on people,” She mused, “I don’t think you or he will like the resulting scar of the abuse, so I think I’ll just do it the right way for now.” She paused to uncap a needle that had been pre-filled with Lidocaine, and then moved to face Sherlock. “Alright, I’m guessing this is a through-and-through. Show me where.”

Sherlock pursed his lips and moved his bloodstained jacket out of the way, lifting up his shirt.

John let out a sigh of relief. “Good, you were just grazed.” He glanced up and saw the look on Sherlock’s face and then scowled. “I’m still mad at you, you git. You’re not getting off the hook that bloody easily. You could have been killed. What were you thinking?!?”

“He was running, John, and I knew he did it, it was really quite obvious—” Sherlock grumbled, watching as Miata cleaned the wound with disinfectant wipes and then insert the needle into the side of his abdomen, once on top of the wound and once at the bottom of it, using half the dose for each.

“Yet you failed to mention to me that he still had the bloody gun.” John ground out.

“I did not lie when I said he must have disposed of it. I gave him too much credit. He was an idiot. But never mind that, John; he’s dead.” He sounded almost gleeful at that fact.

“I’d rather he wasn’t, so _I_ could kill him.” John mused, leaning back into his chair.

“Lestrade shot him in the neck, severed his spinal cord, and it killed him on impact.” The glee was now hardily concealed. Miata prepared the needle and stitching thread, a small amused smile on her lips as they bickered back and forth, as if getting shot at was completely normal.

“Not enough pain for such a bloody cold bastard.” John glared, folding his arms over his chest. “He raped and killed seven Omegas. He deserved more pain than that.”

Miata whistled. “Damn. I didn’t know the guy, but I’m glad he’s dead. Sounds like an asshole to me.” She patted Sherlock’s side gently, away from the wound, to catch his attention. “Stay still.” She started to stitch the wound, wiping away blood between stitches. Once she was done, she sat back and wiped the wound one more time before eyeing it carefully.

“What do you say, John, will he just mess up the gauze?” she asked, flickering her gaze from Sherlock’s stitches to John’s face.

John seemed a bit taken aback, glancing at her in surprise.

“Oh. Right. I meant Mr Watson. Sorry, I just came back from visiting my mom.” She flashed a grin at Sherlock when he perked up at that.

“America? Canada?” Sherlock asked, sounding interested, wanting to know if he got it right.

“Canada. Vancouver.”

“Thought so.” He sounded smug.

“He’ll most likely take the gauze off no matter what I say, anyways, once we get home. So, I guess you can skip it.” John sighed, resigned.

“Okay. Yeah.” She smiled, shrugging, and threw the used cleansing pads into the trash.

“You’re one of the paramedics,” John suddenly declared, sounding pleased that he finally put his finger on what was nagging at him. “I thought I had seen you before. Must have been at a crime scene.”

“Oh, yeah. Really, I prefer being a Paramedic than being an ER nurse.”

“Well, we might see you again.” John made a face and then grumbled, “who are we kidding, of course we’ll see you again. Odds are with Mr Getshurtsalot overe here, it’ll be next week. Or tomorrow.”

Miata laughed, closing the cabinet doors and stripping off her gloves, throwing them in the trash.

“What’s your name, again?” John asked, eyeing her with a look that she couldn’t decipher.

“I don’t think I told you before, sorry. My name’s Miata Hames. But you can call me Mia. Everybody does.”


	3. Tea for Me, Please

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope I'm not getting you guys' hopes up by posting every day. Because I know me, and I don't normally post every day. some time down the road I'll take forever to post and you guys will hate me.  
> I apologize in advance.

John ran into Mia at a coffee shop in the middle of London a month and a half after that.

He had been at a second-hand bookstore, looking for new novels and textbooks for him and Sherlock. He left the store with a forensics textbook and a small collection of crime novels, bee lining from the store to the coffee shop.

Sherlock was in one of his longer sulks because Lestrade had pulled him off a case only a day ago, mostly due to Mycroft’s meddling. John would cheerfully become a victim of torture than go back to the flat with Sherlock in such a mood, so he settled with getting more books and reading one at the coffee shop until it closed.

John entered when a couple left, the Alpha of the pair holding the door open for him with a polite kind smile. When he got to the counter and set his bag of books at his feet, he couldn’t help but notice that a girl was sprawled across a sofa in the corner of the shop, nose buried in a book. In fact, she was surrounded by them, and covered by them, and in some areas of her body it looked as if she were trapped under them. She had flaming red hair that was impossibly curly gathered up in a messy bun on the top of her head.

“Got anything yet?” the barista asked her once he emerged from the back room behind the counter.

“No. serve your customer and ignore me.” She mumbled from behind a book, before slamming it shut and throwing it on top of her foot, reaching out for another one near her face.

“Sorry. She’s looking for a subject of her homework essay. But she’s right picky with things like that. What can I get you?” he smiled, showing perfect white teeth. He had the stereotypical Beta look. Casual dress, sandy hair, brown eyes, somewhat tan skin.

“Just a tea, for me, please.” John fished out his wallet from his back pocket.

Once he had his tea and found a comfy chair that sat across from the sofa that was still occupied by the girl covered in books, he got himself comfy and then picked one of his crime novels to read at random, cracking it open and diving in.

The girl on the sofa and the barista kept bickering back and forth good naturally, and once or twice John found himself gazing at the page he had been reading without remembering a single word he had read, because he had been listening to them squabbling.

A few more customers came and went for about an hour until the door banged open hard enough that the bell connected to the door protested loudly. The girl on the sofa (her name was Jenn, according to the barista) glanced up and then proceeded to roll off the sofa and scramble up, books flying all over the place and papers fluttering around her.

“Mia, where have you _been_? I’ve had to deal with Quin’s shitty ideas for nearly four hours! _Four hours_! That should be a crime, I tell you!” she cried, gesturing widely at the counter where the barista, Quin, was leaning against the inside of the countertop.

“Well, I’m glad I missed it. Really. Very glad.” A slightly familiar voice laughed.

John turned and peered around his seat’s backrest to see who it was.

The nurse from the ER that had helped stitch Sherlock’s bullet graze was leaning against the counter, reaching over it to grab a mug that was in Quin’s hands. Her long wavy light brown hair was hanging loose over her shoulders and down her back, unlike the messy bun it had been in when they first met. Jenn was now hanging over her, clinging to her like an octopus, and patting her back as if to get her attention.

“I need _ideas_ , Mia, _ideassss_!” Jenn whined, reminding John vaguely of Sherlock’s stubborn and bored wail.

“Um, Michael Jackson?” Mia offered, frowning a bit and sipping from the mug.

Jenn stilled and then threw herself off Miata and back into the sofa’s cushions.

“Michael Jackson!” she hissed at Quin, who gazed at her over the coffee machines in amusement. “ _Michael Jackson_! Why didn’t _you_ think of that?! Why didn’t _I_?” she looked appalled.

“Neither of you have my stunning intelligence,” Miata mused, leaning against the counter with exaggerated casualness and sipping from the mug in a fake aloof manor. She was clearly being sarcastic, unlike someone else John knew that would (and had) said those exact words with a straight face and dignified air.

“Oh, stop it.” Jenn groaned, with a joking tone.

John was about to turn back around and return to his book, but Miata had looked his way and saw him.

“Oh! John Watson!” she smiled, pushing off the counter to move over to the sofa across from him, shoving books and a complaining Jenn to the other end of the sofa before sitting down and sipping from her mug and grinning at him.

“I heard that Holmes came back after two days; ripped his stitches.”

John sighed, but smiled. “Yeah, he’s a git who doesn’t know the meaning of ‘taking it easy.’ He ripped three of them while running after a car.” And then almost got hit by said car. John winced and shook his head slightly. Sherlock Holmes; magnet for trouble and maker of trouble. “He said he asked for you but you weren’t in the ER?”

“I mouthed off to my boss. So I got sent on paramedic duty.” She beamed at him. “Spent two weeks helping heart attack victims and cleaning up guys after bar fights. It’s meant to be a punishment, but really, it’s better than the ER. Do you know how many moms come in the Emergency Room with their sick kid in tow? And all they have is a little bit of the flu, while another guy across from them is hacking up blood and has internal bleeding.” She made a face. “I hate working in the ER.”

John chuckled. “I work at a practice. The mums with kids are always persistent. We’ve had to throw a few out, once or twice.”

Miata grunted in approval. “You know what my mom said when I got the flu?” she took a sip from her mug and then huffed. “‘Go to school, you’re fine.’”

John laughed, closing his book and tucking it back into the bag. He sat and talked with Miata and her friends for a few more minutes, and found himself laughing with the other three more than he had laughed in ages (“…once this Beta guy came in with a light bulb shoved up his ass—no, I’m serious, Quin, we had to X-ray it and everything—”) before getting up from his comfortable chair and saying he had to go. He was rather reluctant to leave if he were to be honest, but Mia and Quin and Jenn told him to come by again any time and hang out, so that brightened his mood a bit. Miata followed him to the door, smiling widely, and then waved good-bye as he left.

Once he got home, he was still smiling and had started to whistle.

Sherlock had moved from the kitchen table to the couch in the living room in the many hours of John’s absence, but didn’t appear to have moved besides that.

“You’re in a good mood.” Sherlock said, sitting up in one smooth movement to look him up and down, eyes lingering on his face. “You’ve been laughing. A lot.”

John smiled at him, setting down the bag that he had hung on his arm and pulling out the textbook and novels. “I ran into that ER nurse from before. Mia…ta?” he chewed on his lip as he tried to recall her full name. “Miata Hames.” That sounded about right.

“You did? Did you find out why she wasn’t at the ER when we had to return?” he sounded curious.

“Apparently, she gave her boss what for and then was sent to be on the paramedic’s team as punishment.”

“But that’s not punishment. She obviously likes being a Paramedic better than being an Emergency Room nurse.” He sounded mystified by her boss’ logic.

John chuckled. “I think that’s why she even bothered to cause a row in in the first place, Sherlock.”

Sherlock was silent for a moment and John turned to see him with his fingers pulled together in prayer with his fingertips pressed to his lips and chin. Classic Sherlock thinking pose. John shrugged and went into the kitchen to go make tea.

“John. She asked you to come by to the coffee shop some time again, didn’t she?” Sherlock finally asked from the couch.

John ignored the fact that he very much wanted to know how Sherlock knew it was a coffee shop they had been at, and answered the question instead. “Yes. Why?”

“May I join you next time?”

That startled John enough that he sloshed hot water all over the counter, completely missing the teacup he had been trying to fill.  He cursed silently, and then searched for a rag. “W-what? Why?” he stammered out, grabbing the kitchen rag that was draped over the sink faucet and attempting to soak up the mess.

“I’m curious, John.” Was his only reply.

John gave up on the mess and filled the cups, added milk and sugar, and then sighed, both hands gripping the lip of the counter, looking up at the ceiling. “Alright. But only if you promise not to be, well. As you as you can be you.”

“That makes no sense, John.”

“It makes perfect sense.”

Silence. And then a quick, curt “fine.”

John smiled and brought the cups into the living room.


	4. Omega Drive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> OKAY!  
> So what seems to happen to me is that I go into a fic halfheartedly and then get irked by the simplicity. Because, lets be honest, no two Omegaverse fics are alike.  
> And so, here I am, adding my own little Omegaverse in the vast expanse of Omegaverses.  
> I will be adding more things, probably, as time goes on. *Throws hands up in a 'what can you do' fashion* I've given up on leaving this fic bare and boneless. Time to beefen up this idiotic fic of idiocy.

Alpha Rage: When an Alpha has been “tipped over the edge”. Alpha Rage can be triggered by the following:   
–someone/something threatening their mate(s)   
–someone/something threatening their territory   
–someone/something threatening them   
–someone/something threatening or being condescending of their thoughts or opinions   
–when they dominate (rare)  
–when they submit (rare)  
Omega Drive: When an Omega has an “instinctual urge” or “mental nudge” that is controlled by the Omega’s subconscious. This is commonly active when:   
–they first meet their mate(s) or subconsciously choose a mate   
–a mate is being threatened and they move to Flank them in defense of the threat   
–they submit   
–they dominate   
–they have maternal needs/urges (nest making, calming, feeding, and cleaning)  
Beta Insight: When a Beta understands and sympathizes with someone else’s difficulties or arguments, even if they themselves feel differently about the situation. This trait usually stays dormant unless in a Triad. Beta Insight can take the form of:   
–peace keeping   
–counseling   
–helping their mate(s) understand each other   
–physical comfort   
–nest making (for Omegas)*  
–outlet (for Alphas)**

Omega Gold: [](http://s847.photobucket.com/user/WolveChan/media/goldeye_zps5c50b3db.jpg.html)  
Alpha Silver: [](http://s847.photobucket.com/user/WolveChan/media/SilverEye_zps95b31759.jpg.html)  
Beta Copper: [](http://s847.photobucket.com/user/WolveChan/media/Coppereye_zps79a52d68.jpg.html)


End file.
